


A Penny for your Thoughts

by Une_fleur_ma_dit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18453449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Une_fleur_ma_dit/pseuds/Une_fleur_ma_dit
Summary: He stood up with lazy and yet graceful movements, a daring smirk forming on his lips. “Alright. Tell the other customer that I can't take him tonight.” AU TezuRyo





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this a few years ago (ok more like 10) and recently rewatched the anime and got stuck with Tezuryo feels. Feel free to correct anything English, first language is French ^^
> 
> I don't own Prince of Tennis

The air was hot and damp, gliding over his skin like a lover's steamy breath. Sweaty faces and flaccid silhouette were surrounding him, swallowing him in their heavy mass. Tokyo at night wasn't the same as it was in the daylight, but even when the sun was down, a flow of people were taking hold of the city. The high-class business men had withdrawn with the sun, leaving the streets to partying teenagers, alcoholics and whores.

Tezuka felt a drop of sweat trail down his back. He had taken a shower before leaving the apartment, but he felt as sticky as he would have at the end of a tennis match. Rays of light from a neon sign created misshapen patterns on his face, reflecting on his glasses. He took an hesitant glance at a dark window on his right and looked up to make sure of the name of the place; "The Loan" - and, pushing open the door, resisted the urge to turn back right away.

Filthy, that was the word that crossed his mind immediately. The walls, greasy, were an odd green-gray shade, though it was difficult to tell with the poor lighting. A few ratty tables were dumped on the middle of the floor. The air smelled of sweat mingled with alcohol, and Tezuka had to remind himself to breathe. Along the walls, on wiped out couches, teenagers and older men were lazing. Some of them were kissing. Boys, teenagers... If Tezuka hadn't been Tezuka, he would have cursed in amazement. If Tezuka hadn't been Tezuka, he would have ran out. But Tezuka, being  _Tezuka_ , walked calmly to the bar, face expressionless.

Atobe.

The silver haired boy turned slowly to face him, interrupting his own flirting with the barman. "Oh, Tezuka. Never thought you would come."

Sights and whispers lingered in the air, and Tezuka didn't dare look at anyone else other than his friend. "I wouldn't have if I had known," came the cold reply.

A graceful and slightly drunk smile formed on Atobe's lips. "And that is why I didn't tell you."

The barman slid one drink to Atobe, and another in front of the empty barstool next to him, eyes sharp behind his glasses.

"Thank you, Oshitari-kun," Atobe purred.

Oshitari bowed and left to serve other clients.

Tezuka got straight to the point. "Why did you want to see me, Atobe?"

The man took one long sip from his glass and turned to Tezuka again, eyes glistening in the feeble light. "Have a seat, Tezuka."

Tezuka obliged, but didn't make any attempt to touch his drink. The unclean glass remained untouched, and even the disturbing noises in the background didn't convince him to escape into the bliss of alcohol.

Tezuka felt Atobe's satisfied gaze on him. Tezuka refused to give in that easily.

"Again, Atobe, what I am here for?"

"Loosen up a bit, Tezuka." Atobe's secretive and yet provocative smile was back into place. "I made you come here to  _show you something._ You see, there is more to life than university and tennis."

If Tezuka was taken aback, he didn't show it. So when Atobe left the barstool and made his way to the back of the room, Tezuka followed.

* * *

The boy was spread nonchalantly onto an isolated couch. What surrounded him didn't seem to interest him, because his eyes were closed and infinite boredom was written all over his face. Dark locks were falling over his eyelids, but they didn't seem to bother him. Hands firmly shoved in the pockets of his black jeans and chin resting on his chest, the teen still exhaled an odd kind of uneasiness. Maybe it was in the sternness of his lips, maybe in the subtle frown of his brows.

"Oi, Echizen."

The teenager cracked an eye open, enough to let a golden glint slip through it. When he recognized Atobe, his eyelids lift slowly and resignation blurred his steady look for an instant. His tired glare went to Tezuka.

"Alright. Tell the other customer that I can't take him tonight." He stood up with lazy and yet graceful movements, a daring smirk forming on his lips.

 _Back to business mode_.

Tezuka was sure he was misinterpreting this whole  _comedy_. With nothing more than a twitch of his brows, he turned to Atobe. He couldn't have!

But Atobe was smiling  _the_  smile, the smile that Tezuka knew too well; the one that said,  _Yes, this is a setup, now be amazed by my admirable genius!_ And the insufferable bastard seemed pretty damn  _proud_  about it _._

"Have fun. My treat."

No way.

"No." And with that characteristically simple response, Tezuka was making his way out, back onto the melting streets, his damp shirt sticking to his back, ignoring the disgruntled, hissed 'Che' Echizen made as he left, the sound burning into his memory and lingering in his mind.

And it was just another night in Tokyo...another lonely night.


	2. Angel with sheet metal wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the 3 chapters that have been written today and post the rest as I write it. Enjoy!
> 
> I don't own Prince of Tennis
> 
> Edit: wow I just noticed I posted the first and second chapter out of order ^^" Now everything's fixed!

He threw his coffee in the nearest trash can, hurrying past the remaining students who were limply exiting the stuffy auditorium. Tezuka was supposed to meet with Fuji ages ago, but his lecture had ran late, as usual. He was tired and hot, and was doing his best not to fall in his former captain-state and bark at anyone who would stand in his way to run laps . By the time he pushed open the door of the building, his forehead was shining with light sweat and his glasses were sliding down his nose.

He looked up at the leaden, lowering sky, readjusting his tennis bag on his shoulder. Rain tarried to fall and the damp heat was getting on everybody's nerves. Sleeping would be impossible if the room wasn't blessed with air-conditioning and days weren't better; the campus was now like a huge sauna in which both students and teachers felt like they were losing their sanity. Tezuka was glad to breath some fresh air again, but felt no relief in the presence of the sadist Fuji.

His friend was waiting at the fence, his everlasting smile blossoming on his lips as if it were just another sunny and lively day.

"Fuji," he called, though it sounded more like a command. He had known him since his junior years, but being with Fuji always made him slightly uncomfortable. When the man opened his eyes, Tezuka felt like they could decipher him as a sailor would read maps. And Tezuka wasn't always sure of what Fuji saw, given that sincerely, he didn't always understand himself either.

"Tezuka," Fuji greeted him, light brown hair sultrily tossed by the wind. He made no comment on Tezuka's delay, and Tezuka gave no explanation. Words had never really been a necessity.

He was there.

They headed toward the tennis courts as the threatening rumble of thunder was heard faintly in the distance. They warmed up smoothly, easily falling into their old routine.

"Where were you last night? I tried your apartment a couple of times but you never picked up."

Tezuka stretched his arms and bent forward, relaxing the muscles of his back. "Hn."

Fuji chuckled. "That's so very like you, Tezuka."

Time was spent in bolting balls, heavy breaths and gleaming skin. When the sky fell on them, Tezuka's face wasn't reflecting Fuji's own smile, but nonetheless, he felt like he was flying.

* * *

The soft fabric grazed against his cheek as Tezuka put the t-shirt on. Droplets of cool water made their way under the collar, and he reached for his towel once again. Still drying his hair, he turned off the light of the bathroom and made his way to the kitchen. His wet footsteps were hushed up by the carpeted floor while claps of thunder and the irritating ringing of the phone resounded against the walls. It was the fifth time that Atobe had tried to contact him in less than an hour. He was tempted to unplug the phone, even if that meant being impolite. But then again, he wasn't so sure that Atobe deserved this politeness. The events of the last night only reinforced his conviction that the man wasn't exactly a good influence, and bad influences didn't need frequenting.

The fridge was derisively empty, except for a few bottles of ice tea, left-over soup and a couple of eggs. Tezuka let out a huffed sigh. He had planned to eat rapidly, and then work on an essay for the rest of the evening. Putting on his shoes again, he grabbed his wallet and an umbrella, and soon enough, he found himself back under the pouring rain, thunder drumming in his ears.

* * *

It wasn't that _it_ was clearly visible, because Tezuka was having a hard time trying to make out  _its_ silhouette in the dark alley. It wasn't that _it_ was noisy, because the only sound that could be heard was the distant barking of a dog and the gentle draining of the rain. It was mostly because _it_ didn't want to be seen, didn't want the world to look at him. Still, in the faint glow of a foggy moonlight, the sight of pale and soft flesh was offered to Tezuka.

The boy was slumped against an ill-smelling trash can, eyes shut close, arms protecting his head. His shirt, wrecked and covered with dirt, was hanging poorly around his torso. He could have been dead, but his chest was rising. He could have been crying, but no sound escaped his lips.

Tezuka wasn't sure if his footsteps had echoed through the teenager's mind. He didn't move, didn't even flinch when the umbrella tilted against the road.

His hand found the boy's knee and his low voice seemed alien even to himself. "Are you alright?"

A guttural growl quivered in the boy's chest, scratched hands clenched at the trash can. Goosebumps were running along his slender arms, and Tezuka felt his heart skip a beat when he saw blood dripping from his jaw. "Listen, I'm going to help you."

This time, the teen didn't make a sound, only shivered lightly, cheap shoes scraping against the asphalt as Tezuka tried to pull him up, undone belt rubbing uncomfortably against Tezuka's thigh. Despite being noticeably shorter than him, the boy sure was heavy. Tezuka grunted slightly as his arms protested against the effort. Even if he played tennis regularly and was in an enviable shape, swinging a racket and hitting a ball was far easier than lifting a beaten up teenager who seemed to have no problem with the notion of gravity. As he put his left hand on the bare hip of the boy, a sharp hiss escaped the sealed lips, ragged breath hot against Tezuka's neck. He retrieved his hand immediately, placing it safely on the shoulder.

"Sorry," he muttered in the damp hair, mind racing.

The boy was in bad shape. Tezuka could tell by the occasional winces and flinches that would shake the bruised body every now and then. Hospitalization, and even police were necessary. But then his eyes fell on the boy's features, and his breath suddenly caught in his throat.

 _That_  boy.

_Echizen_


	3. Swelling tide

The journey home was a study in balance. Tezuka gave no mind to the curious looks thrown his way, nor to the dark patches almost artfully etching themselves on his lavender shirt, blood and skin and warmth shared before even a handshake.

Tezuka was many things, but Tezuka was never careless. Yet, his umbrella laid forgotten in a dark alley and the constant  _swish_  made by his soaked socks in his equally soaked shoes were telling another tale. Yet, he was bringing a boy he didn't know home, a boy that screamed trouble and coming from a world entirely different from his own. Tezuka was many things, but Tezuka was never...

Tezuka looked down at the dripping mop of green-black hair against his jaw.

Tezuka was getting careless.

* * *

Supporting the dead weight of the boy against his side and fishing for his keys at the same time, Tezuka prayed that none of his neighbors would choose that moment to make an appearance in the hallway. Grunting with the effort, he finally managed to push his door open and to drag the shivering –shock, Tezuka's brain supplied usefully - boy inside. He stood in the genkan for a while, a puddle forming around his feet and the lenses of his glasses a blurry mess. Echizen made a pathetic noise at the back of his throat, half a cough and half a whine, and Tezuka came to a decision.

\- I'm calling the police.

There was a hand at his wrist, surprisingly strong as the black head jerked against his neck.

\- N… No.

Tezuka held back a frustrated sigh but his frown deepened remarkably. He had the urge to use his best  _buchou_  voice and  _insist_ , but he had a feeling that he had met his match in stubbornness if his memories of the fiery golden eyes were accurate.

\- Very well. But we have to wash your bruises before you bleed all over the floor.

They managed to make it to the bathroom without making too much of a mess, Echizen making a valiant effort to support more of his weight.

He sat slumped against the bathtub, eyes closed and face expressionless as shivers cursed through his body from time to time. Tezuka emptied his cabinet, eyes now sharp behind his glasses but hair and clothes sticking uncomfortably to his form.

Without a word, he came to crouch in front of his guest, knees almost touching and taking in the paleness of the teen, the barely there defeated line of his shoulders, the bitterness tugging at the corners of his lips.

\- Open your eyes, he demanded slowly, and Echizen did, so easily that Tezuka had to wonder just how much he was used to comply to orders in his… line of work.

\- Is there anyone I can call? he asked softly, searching for… something, anything in the dull golden eyes.

A faint shake of the head.

\- I'm feeling better, I'll just go.

Once again, Tezuka felt the urge to sigh. That made it twice in the span of 10 minutes.  _That_  didn't happen often so this time he did use his  _buchou_  voice.

\- You're not going anywhere in your state. I'm running you a bath.

His stern voice must've lost nothing of its power for the teen slouched a bit more against the edge of the bathtub and he bowed his head.

Satisfied, Tezuka adjusted the temperature of the bath and poured the correct dose of antiseptic in the water after carefully reading the label of the brown bottle.

They were getting to the tricky part.

It hadn't escaped Tezuka's attention that the nature of Echizen's wounds could be delicate. The belt of the teen still hung on his tight, undone and a dark reminder of a meeting that probably took a turn for the worse. There was a large gash on the left hip, were the shirt rode up to reveal the pointy curve of a hipbone. One of Echizen's cheek was starting to turn a few interesting shades and his knuckles were a raw, painful sight, blood and rain mingling together to form the saddest of painting. The teen's breathing was labored.

There was a deep ache in Tezuka's chest.

\- Do you want to watch?

Echizen's rough tone had been flat, uninterested, but with a tinge of defiance, knowing golden eyes holding Tezuka's firmly.

\- I beg your pardon?

Echizen had started unzipping his pants, throat working, painfully it seemed, around the words.

\- I remember you, you know. You came to the club. Do you want to watch?

Anger licked a slow and sinful path in his belly, a contrast to the cool rivulets running from the tip of his hair to the nape of his neck.

\- There are towels under the sink. I'll bring you a new set of clothes. Call if you need anything.

If he closed the door a little too forcefully, it was because the wood had a tendency to swell with humidity.

Arms crossed, he listened for the occasional pained gasp that came with the rustling of cloths and then the slapping of water. A low hiss could be heard and Tezuka strode purposefully to the kitchen to heat up some soup and rice.

He eventually retrieved a soft towel from a closet to dry his hair and padded to his room, ears trained on any sound coming from the bathroom.

Once changed into clean sweatpants and shirt and a change of clothes provided for his guest, he sat at the kitchen table and waited.

* * *

Tezuka tried to absorb himself in the complexity of the human body and not stare at the way Echizen's hand would tremble getting the spoon to his mouth or how his knuckles were slowly but surely swelling. He tried to focus on his anatomy book –  _The median nerve accompanies the brachial artery and vein over the elbow joint_ – and not on the way dark lashes lowered tiredly over red rimmed eyes.

As soon as Echizen was finished, Tezuka slowly closed his book – he would have to reread the entire chapter – and half carried the exhausted teen to the living room, lowering him with a grunt on the couch. Echizen didn't so much as stir when Tezuka raised his feet and placed a pillow under his head.

Frown as deep as ever, Tezuka finally allowed himself a shower and some much-needed time to think.

* * *

When Echizen came to, the first thing he registered was pain. He didn't think there was an inch of his body not screaming at him. The second one was a cool hand on his forehead. This was a big hand. A callous hand. Fingers worked little marbles past his lips and a smooth rim followed.

\- Drink, came the order.

Echizen frowned with confusion. He knew that voice. It reminded him of a body warm as sunlight, of muscles taunt and steady against his uncooperative ones. It reminded him of a rolling collarbone under his chin and of the resinous scent of frankincense at the hollow of a throat. Echizen wanted to trail his nose against that thrumming warmth.

\- Echizen, drink, commanded the voice again.

Echizen complied and made an appreciative noise. It was water, plain water, but it was a blessing against his raw throat – screaming, too much screaming.

The voice was soft now.

\- Sleep.

Echizen did.

* * *

The second time he woke up, it was to clearer thoughts, silence and a bright sun. He scrunched his face, shielding his eyes with one bandaged hand. He looked at it for a moment, not remembering dressing the wounds the other night. He took a careful inhale, testing the movement of ribs and muscles. It was far from being pleasant, but he would survive. He was glad nobody was there to see him try to get up. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he finally managed to haul himself to his feet. He stood there for a few moments, wobbling, before he made tentative steps towards where he thought the bathroom was. As far as he could see, there was no sign of… what was his name again?

Echizen was relieved to see no blood in his urine. He wouldn't have been surprise after the few memorable blows to his abdomen.

When he made it back to the sofa, he was exhausted and black spots were dancing in front of his eyes. He sat down carefully, gently probing at his skull. Again, a few tender points and an impressive bump but no open wound from what he could tell. His left cheek made him wince and he decided to leave it alone for the time being. He lifted the lavender shirt to inspect his torso – _Che, he is so gay_. All in all, after a peak under the bandage, the gash on his hip was the most impressive, but there were a few vibrant contusions all over his ribs and stomach. No wonder he felt like a punching bag at the end of a dozen rounds. After assessing that he hadn't any life-threatening injuries and gulping down an entire glass of water and two painkillers left on the coffee table, he lay down again. The apartment was bright and sleep elusive, but at least the world had stopped reeling. Pulling the thin white sheet to his chin, he let his eyes drift slowly around the place. It was small and modest, but Echizen felt  _clean_  just looking at it. The walls were immaculate, and the wooden floor were shining, with some potted plants adding luxurious touches of green to the place. The furniture was a mix of modern and Japanese culture. The kitchen table and counter, which Echizen was in no state to appreciate the night before, seemed to have been carved from the same young and pale tree.

\- Much better than my old man's place, he mumbled in the sheet.

He spotted enormous books on a shelf, along with various trophies and pictures. Squinting, he tried to decipher the faces and features in the frames but his head was beginning to throb again. Giving up, he lifted the sheet over his head and, with an unexpected feeling of safety settling at the bottom his stomach, drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

This time, when he woke up, it was to drizzling and sizzling and a tall and masculine form in front of the stove. Echizen blinked away any remaining sleep, following the solid silhouette of his savior with rapt attention, to his hair full of controlled energy to the apron wrapped neatly around his waist.

What  _was_  his name again?

The soft light over the kitchen area crowned his head with gold and Echizen took pleasure at simply following the assured and smooth motions around the kitchen.

\- You're finally awake.

Echizen was so entranced in his examination that he hadn't noticed his host catching him staring. Like yesterday, Echizen felt the copper eyes like a physical and commanding presence. Like yesterday, he fell automatically into defensive mode.

\- Are you disappointed? Do you prefer them unconscious and unresisting?

The man's eyes widened a fraction and his hands stilled mid-cutting.

Echizen wanted to bite his tongue and a shiver ran up his spine, but he lifted his chin defiantly as the man slowly approached him. They stared at each other for a time.

\- If I was still the captain of my tennis club, I would make you run an absurd amount of laps, but considering that I'm not captain anymore and in light of your apparent situation, I'll simply say this: yes, I came to the place where you were working and yes, I am attracted towards men. However, as I never sought any engagement of sexual nature with you or any of your coworkers and given that I brought you to my home when you clearly needed help, I don't see how my sexual preferences would be of any interest to you.

Somehow, Echizen had the feeling that the man didn't usually give long speeches and the matter-of-facts sincerity underlying his tone made Echizen want to lower his shields for a while.

Cautiously, he let his trademark smirk brake into his face.

\- Oh? So you're a  _Buchou_  then?


End file.
